Lost
by Arrington Blake
Summary: Natasha comes back, shaken up, after a mission thats gone wrong. With few words exchanged, Clint helps her shake off the dispair.


Pairing: Clint Barton (Hawkeye)/Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Rating: T (max)

Disclaimer: They are not mine. I do not own the characters, destination, or other copyrighted references. I do not claim to own the above. I do not receive money from this work.

A/N: Hello Friends!

In the running total of things, this is probably by 60th or 70th fanfic, but my first Avengers piece. I absolutely love this couple both in the comics and in the movie; they have so much depth and background and history. Who can help but want to write all the pieces to their story? Not me. Well, I hope you enjoy. I love (positive, constructive) feedback. It really makes my day. I hope to hear from you! So without further chit chat….

Pairing: Clint Barton (Hawkeye)/Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Rating: T (max)

Disclaimer: They are not mine. I do not own the characters, destination, or other copyrighted references. I do not claim to own the above. I do not receive money from this work.

A/N: This is my first ever livejournal post, so why I am not new to fanfiction, I am new here. I am lost myself and a little confused. Soooo….if anyone has helpful hints on how to post and connect…please let me know, I'm desperate. Also, I love your comments…so let me know how you feel.

Lost

Arrington Blake

She looks lost.

She is lost.

Her eyes flick from one corner of the room to the other and up and down and back again. They

never meet his. She is silent, not in the way she usually is, not in the way that's deadly, but in a way

that's sad… and scared.

"it didn't go as planned?"

She picks at her shirt.

She picks at the comforter.

She dissembles her gun and reassembles it.

She pushes her hair behind her ears.

Repeats.

It's a language he has learned out of necessity.

It means iyes/i. It means iit was fucking terrible/i. It means iI gave myself up to somebody I didn't want/i. iAgain/i. It means iit was too much of a reminder/i. It means ithey left me there/i. It means iI thought SHIELD was different/i.

It means iwhere were you? Why did they take you? Why are they punishing me?/i

She will never understand that not everything is meant to hurt her.

Instead she says, "no. it didn't go as planned," her voice hoarse and dark.

The silence is thick with words unsaid, promises broken, and awkward tension.

"Tasha?" he asks low and dark.

And when she looks at him, a little girl hides in her eyes, frightened and alone, soot stained fingers the only thing she can hide behind. Cold and desperate for warmth. For safety.

She looks without seeing. Hears his footsteps move around the room. Flinches when they get

closer to her. She hears the squeak of a knob turn and then the rush of water beating against the floor

of the shower in quick pitter patters that remind her of marching footsteps.

She can do this. She can get up and wash and sleep and forget. She is a warrior.

She is a little girl wanting to die and a woman fearing death.

"Tasha?" again, his hands on her shoulders, "come on, wash it away," then when she doesn't move, "The water's warm."

She follows him to the bathroom.

Takes off her sweat shirt.

Takes off her shirt.

Takes off her beat up converse, worn for comfort on the plane ride home.

Takes off her pants.

Takes off her bra.

Takes off her underwear.

She is practiced, routine, methodical. She is distant.

She is under the water- and then he is there, pulling her close as she breaks. Screaming and hitting and cursing and crying. He takes the beating, catching hands and hurt. Then she is up in the air, legs around his waist, arms pulling him close.

The wound on her side is open and bleeding, connecting the bruises that cover her body into one

line, painting both of them.

Marking both of them.

She is in the air and then in the bed. Dried off and warm. Wrapped in his arms and safe. And then

she really sees him.

"Who am I?"

It's a question that implies a philosophical answer but he wraps it up in everything she needs to

hear.

"You are Natasha Romanoff. Right now you are sad. But I'm here. And I. am. real."

"You're real?" a prayer as she sinks into the bed. Her joints and muscles falling awkwardly into

place, one by one, by one, as the memories, and the feelings, catch up with the water still pooling in the

bottom of the shower and fall down the drain.

"I'm real"

There is silence again.

She'll never tell him how bad it really was. She will never give him details. For a moment, she will

suffer. But in the end, he's there to carry the secrets.

She doesn't know what this is.

Or why they're always in the same bed.

Why there is always a shower.

Why there is always a secret.

Why he is there.

But he is. That's what matters.

"How bad was it?" He pushes his luck, and quietly she says,

"They didn't let you come. They took you from me"

It's a declaration of need and want and love, all wrapped into a mundane sentence.

But, it's enough, because for a moment, she is at a destination.

For a moment, she is anything but lost.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a note.

Xoxo

Arrington Blake


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